


Line to Line

by tessdebelle



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Framework, framework fic, phil is a bad artist and i'm so here for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:15:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessdebelle/pseuds/tessdebelle
Summary: Professor Coulson has drawn the same person over and over again, but he was never able to put a name to that face.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on: https://68.media.tumblr.com/ed2b4e2dd39c007ea75f2e920b11e8f5/tumblr_onwjog7lnc1so9waso2_400.png

Art had never been one of Phil Coulson’s strengths. In fact, he distinctly remembered having been assigned to make a cricket in a ceramics class as a kid and looking back had somehow ended up making a penguin. His college roommate, Jake, had been an art student (and quite a stoner) but Phil suspected that had never rubbed off on him.

However, he found himself drawing again and again, only he kept drawing the same things. He would draw the logo of S.H.I.E.L.D. - he had never been caught with that, thankfully - very badly, and strangely enough even though he couldn’t picture it and hadn’t seen it too many times, he could draw it far better than the Hydra logo.

There was a strange writing too that just poured out of his hand and onto paper, so neatly, with straight lines and circles and dashes. He had written the words ‘ _ it’s a magical place _ ’ more times than he could count.

But the one that mystified him the most was a particular drawing of a woman. Somehow she looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her - couldn’t even define a hair color, race, or age based on his drawing. He wasn’t very good and all he had were ballpoint pens to draw with, but the woman had hair that went past her shoulders at least, bangs drawing over her forehead, dark eyes, and that smirk that was both familiar to him and completely foreign.

He was cutting out another article for the file folder filled with the information he couldn’t make sense of when someone came into his office. A girl who looked too old to be one of his students, but pretty young, only she looked terrible - hair matted and dirty, desperately in need of a shower and possibly something to wear other than a trench coat.

When she spoke, her voice sounded raspy, like she had a cold or something, but she sounded like she knew him. He tucked away his file and pictures as he spoke to her. She introduced herself as Jemma Simmons, and he had no idea who that was, which seemed to distress her. None of it made sense, but somehow she seemed to understand that there were gaps in his memory, irregularities, things he couldn’t make sense of. But one thing she’d said… one thing had made sense.

_ “You need to remember me! And Fitz and Agent May and all the good that we have done!” _

Something about that sentence he couldn’t put his finger on felt familiar. More than anything ever had. But he couldn’t figure out why.

_ *** _

The resistance simultaneously the most exhilarating and terrifying experience he had ever had. More memories outside of whatever machine he had been in came back every day, but there was still the thought of ‘I’m a teacher. None of this is right’ that came to him whenever he tried to hold a weapon.

Daisy, one of the closest connections he seemed to have to anyone else in the resistance (other than Grant Ward, who even though he didn’t know set off some kind of a warning signal in his mind) was discussing his memories with him one day when he thought of the girl he’d been drawing. “Do you recognize her?” He asked, taking out a crumpled piece of notebook paper he’d drawn her on. It was one of the better renditions he’d done, and somehow felt closer to how she looked, even though he had no idea how she  _ actually _ looked.

The girl looked between him and the drawing before crossing her arms and looking him in the eye. “I’m not sure you’re ready to hear that.” She said.

“It’s my life. I think I have a right to know why I keep drawing this person.” He said. Daisy looked away. “Is she my wife or something? Was I married in your world?” He asked.

She looked down, smirking. “That’s a complicated question but I’m going to go with no. As good as married, though.” She said. “Hunter, can you get one of those Hydra rosters?”

A man with close cropped hair and a beard popped out from behind the nearest doorway. He had been told Hunter was part of the world outside and, unlike the other man, named Trip, was alive, just not with the rest of their team any longer. “Yeah, but most of them have been doodled on.” He said.

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Find me a picture of May that has the least amount.” She said.

May. Phil rolled that name back and forth in his mind, trying to get a sense of why it sounded familiar when Hunter gave Daisy a roster of Hydra agents. She flipped through the booklet and handed him a folded over page. “You really aren’t a great artist, AC.” She said.

“AC?” He asked.

She waved her hand. “Forget about it.” She said. “In our world, that’s Agent Melinda May. You were partners for a long time. Here, she’s an agent of Hydra and even colder than in our world. Probably because she never met you.”

He ran his thumb over the face of the mysterious woman. He had heard of Agent May before - had taught about her. She was the one who had saved the Inhuman who had gone on to cause the Cambridge incident. She was as much of a monster as the Inhumans for doing so, she had caused so much destruction, so much loss of life, she was a traitor, she was…

His best friend.

Even with the impulses being a teacher who hated Inhumans and hated what she had done, all he could think of was Melinda May, forever wishing she hadn’t killed the girl, only to discover that in this world she hadn’t and her lack of action had spiraled into a disaster.

“It’s a lot like Fitzsimmons I guess.” He flinched at the name Fitz - he knew the man who was referred to as The Doctor, including his full name, but hearing him referred to so casually would probably lead to a punishment in this world. “Without you, she turned out… Evil.” She said.

“She’s not evil. She’s misled.” He said sharply. Somehow, automatically, he was defensive of her even in a world that the moment she saw him she’d likely shoot him. He tucked away the catalog of Hydra names and faces. “Alright. How do we wake her up?”

 


End file.
